


a fantasy-like feeling

by forochel



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: 365247, Canon Universe, Cock Warming, Dom/sub Undertones, Fucking, Lots of it, M/M, Subspace, idolverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:02:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24031729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forochel/pseuds/forochel
Summary: Sheer fucking filth, is what this is. A smutty take on how 365247 may have been written.
Relationships: Kang Younghyun | Young K/Kim Wonpil
Comments: 24
Kudos: 173





	a fantasy-like feeling

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of FANTASY based on fictional representations of real people. If you are or personally know any of the people tagged up above, please for both our sakes' hit backspace/the x button right the fuck now. 
> 
> right, now that's out of the way, I genuinely have no excuse other than waking up one day with the terrible thought of 'ha what if kwp was sitting on yh's cock while he wrote [the lyrics to 365247](https://lyricskpop.net/lyrics/day-6-365247-english-translation/)'. also I'm still not over how fucking horny that song is.

* * *

  
Song camp is great, song camp is wonderful, song camp is _eating up all of their time_ and about to drive Wonpil mad.

It probably has, because he's half wondering at himself — wondering what the hell'd got into him this morning when he'd told the members to go on ahead to the company building without him first. Well, Wonpil knows exactly what's in him — but, metaphorically speaking, he's never been this brave before. Desperation makes brave fools of men, apparently.

His excuse is needing a different place to think, but really it's so he doesn't have to spend more than half the day trying hard not to fidget, fidgeting, and then trying hard not to shiver or blush or moan in front of the producer-hyungs.

"I think Wonpilie is getting cabin fever." Daseul-hyung gives him a sympathetic look around 5pm, and pats him on the arm. "We've made good progress today."

They have, despite everything. Despite the the pleasant thrill up his spine every time he moves, the solid presence of the plug in him, the way he feels he might fall apart the moment Younghyun inevitably presses a hand to his lower back. The last time they'd done this had been worse, he tells himself, on tour and Younghyun teasing him while they were exploring overseas. Though — at least then they'd had the anonymity of being not-famous-enough in an indifferently European city.

Wonpil had thrown himself into the music, trying to distract himself from his body. It's not exactly a strategy for creative productivity that he's likely to recommend to anyone — would rather _die_ than admit to anyone other than perhaps his boyfriend — but it seems to have worked?

In any case, he's happy enough to have a shortened day.

Waving goodbye to the hyungs, Wonpil makes his way along to studio that he knows Younghyun is in. But not before a brief stop in their (thankfully empty) practice room to pick up a certain special item he'd hidden away with his scores. He is all too aware of how oddly he's walking, the small careful steps he's taking to avoid any jolting, and prays that nobody pays him too much attention.

Wonpil knocks on the door perfunctorily, hoping that Younghyun's alone, before opening it and popping his head in with a cheery, "What's up, hyung!"

"Baby, I can't —" Wonpil smiles to himself as Younghyunie-hyung's voice dies in his throat when he's turned around enough to actually see Wonpil. "Uh."

"I'm bored" — Wonpil shuts and locks the door behind himself — "and tired, and I miss you."

"We live —" Younghyun clears his throat. "Um, together?"

His eyes drag down and up Wonpil's body like a physical caress, linger on Wonpil's neck.

There's a good reason the stylists stopped putting chokers on Wonpil back in 2017. The reason was Younghyun's thinly disguised inability to function like a normal human being whenever there was a thin ribbon of anything wrapped around Wonpil's throat.

"We can't fool around now, Pilie." He doesn't sound very convinced by himself. More to the point, he's already reaching out for Wonpil.

Wonpil pouts at him while stepping into his open arms.

"Hyung." He tugs at Younghyun's hair. "I just want to — "

Younghyun abruptly pushes his face into Wonpil's middle, arms wrapped around his waist. "I'm tired too." His voice is muffled and whiney and makes Wonpil's heart melt. He runs a finger down the shell of one ear. "But I want to finish these lyrics because it's — I have a really good feeling about this one."

"Oh?"

"Mmm." Younghyun rubs his face against the worn cotton of Wonpil's t-shirt. His nose digs into the soft give of Wonpil's belly, almost uncomfortably. "The Latin-type music I've been learning about. We experimented. Club vibes."

"Ah," Wonpil tangles his fingers in the soft hair at the nape of Younghyun's neck. He'd been hoping for ... something different, and hopefully will get it at some point tonight, but this is good too. More than anything, he's just missed this affectionate tactility. "Sexy club music."

There's a puff of warm air moist through his t-shirt, Younghyun chuffing out a laugh. "Mmm, very sexy. I definitely was thinking about you." His hands wander down to cup Wonpil's ass. Wonpil sucks in a quick breath. The soft material of his shorts really doesn't —

"No underwear, Pilie?" Younghyun's voice comes out rumbly, low, and above all: amused.

Oh, okay, this is going where Wonpil wanted. Good.

"It's too hot," he tries. "Outside, I mean."

"Really." Younghyun's hands slide a little lower, and squeeze.

It's all Wonpil can do not to cry out. His knees go weak, though, and he barely catches himself on Younghyun's shoulders.

He's catching his breath still, as Younghyun leans back with his head canted, eyes sharp and considering. That, Wonpil knows from long experience, is a dangerous expression.

"Why do I have a feeling" — Younghyun's voice is dark and smooth like melted chocolate — "that you've been a very naughty boy today, Pilie?"

"I just —" Wonpil whimpers when Younghyun's questing fingers nudge up against the wide, flared base of the plug that's been sitting pretty in him all day. "— it's been so long, _hy-u-ung_."

Younghyun laughs incredulously. "You're a fucking menace." His hands are still kneading at Wonpil's ass, though, cleaving him in pulses and leaving him desperate for more.

Somehow, he manages to convey this through the helpless noises that the motion of Younghyun's hands on him, shifting the plug in him and making him clench instinctively on _not enough_ have reduced him to.

Younghyun sighs; his eyes are hungry. "I have to — Pilie, I want you, I do, but I have to finish this song."

"You d-don't have to, _haaa_ , do anything," he manages. "I did it for me."

It is, going by the look on Younghyun's face, a very unconvincing lie.

"Mmmhmmm." Younghyun holds one cheek apart with one hand and presses against the plug with his other, rubs it deeper into Wonpil in a slow, torturous circle. Wonpil's knees do actually buckle this time. He collapses forward, legs folding under him so that he's spread over Younghyun's lap.

"Hy- _ung_ ," he moans, high and sharp.

"You know," Younghyun muses. "I think this could work."

Little bursts of pleasure skitter out from where the plug is heavy and solid and pressing against him, being moved against him, making his limbs and belly feel lax with helpless desire. "Wh-what?" he pants.

"My song." The chair squeaks under their combined weights as Younghyun pivots and rolls closer to the desk.

"You're going to _record me_?"

Younghyun straight up laughs in his face — he's not mean, he never is, but there's a lurking darkness to it.

"No, baby." Younghyun keeps Wonpil pinned in place as he leans forward, pressing their fronts closer together as he reaches for his laptop. "And if I did, I wouldn't share it for all the world to hear."

A catchy guitar riff starts up, the contour of it already sinking into Wonpil's brain when the latin trap beat kicks in on the second loop. Despite everything — the heat, the pleasure, his cock trapped heavy and hard between them — he can't help but hum along to it under the nonsense syllables of Younghyun's guide vocals.

"You like it?" Younghyun sounds pleased, innocent pride belying the way he's still playing with the plug in Wonpil's ass.

Wonpil nods, burying his face in the crook of his neck. "How, _ahn_ , how much m-more?"

"To write? Well, I kind of have the hook and maybe half a verse, but not the rest of it."

"That's a lot."

"Mmhmm." Younghyun noses at the side of his face. "Do you want me to make you come first? Then you can nap?"

The thing is, Wonpil's been humming all over with arousal since the morning, so it feels like every inch of his skin has become sensitised. And now, so close to the person he wants most, and the teasing circles Younghyun's rubbing the plug in, he could quite easily be pushed over the edge. But he likes it, too, the hot heavy feeling building in his abdomen, the hint of the oncoming surge of pleasure starting from deep inside. He thinks that if he waits, Younghyun might be able to give him a cascade of orgasms.

It's happened before, after being edged for days on end. The others had all gone back to their respective homes during their break, leaving them alone and with free rein.

Wonpil shakes his head, even though he knows Younghyun has to know he's hard.

He's gathered closer to Younghyun, the broad hand pressing into the small of his back making him lose any remnant of strength in his limbs. There's a knowing smile in Younghyun's voice. "You want to sit on my cock, sweetheart? Keep me warm while I work?"

Ears burning, Wonpil nods.

"Fuck," Younghyun exhales, hips jerking up. His hot bulge of his cock presses insistently against Wonpil's taint.

Wonpil moans, bears down against it, feels his ass spasm at the mere suggestion.

"Who'd think—" Younghyun tips his chin up with his knuckles and gives him a sweet, suckling kiss " — who'd think you'd be like this, to look at you, hmm?" His eyes are devouring, possessive. Wonpil could drown in them.

Instead, he casts his gaze low, abashed, and squirms.

"Fuck, baby, don't do that, it's too cute for what we're doing."

"I'm not cute," Wonpil protests, by rote.

"Sure," Younghyun humours him. "So, you want to turn around? It might, fuck, it might be more comfortable for you."

Wonpil pauses. Shakes his head. "No, like this is fine."

This way he can tip his forehead against Younghyun's neck, and kiss the thin skin there, curl himself in and hide his face, feel small and held and surrounded.

They work together — he gets Younghyun's cock out, unzips the fly of his jeans; Younghyun urges him up long enough to divest him of his shorts and — once he's back in position, eases the plug out of Wonpil. He doesn't see where Younghyun puts it, doesn't really care because he's already holding himself open and sinking blissfully down, filling himself up and savouring the pressure and the heat, biting his lip at every twitch he can feel. He's been wet for so long, anyway, and had lubed himself up again in the bathroom before coming here.

"Oh, baby," Younghyun whispers into his ear, presses a kiss to his jaw. "You're so fucking — _god_. Don't — don't move — just stay like this, okay? Just sit."

He knows what Younghyun means — don't try to fuck himself onto Younghyun's cock, don't clench, don't grind. It sends a little frission of _something_ down his spine, makes him weak all over, to think of just ... being used, like this, like a doll. A hot, wet sheath for his boyfriend's cock, still thickening in him.

Younghyun mistakes the time it takes for words to coalesce in Wonpil's brain as discontent; he nips at Wonpil's ear. "Otherwise you have to go home, Pilie."

"No," Wonpil whines, squirms a little in his desperation to make himself clear. Younghyun jerks up into him with a gasped curse, fucking the breath out of Wonpil, before his hands clamp down to still Wonpil's hips. Panting for breath, he pleads, "I'll be good, hyung, please."

"You sure?"

Wonpil nods, closing his eyes and tucking his face into the crook of Younghyun's neck, arms loosely looped around Younghyun's sides.

He focuses on his breathing, on the fullness, the liquid heat spreading out under his navel, the skittering sparks of pleasure spreading tendrils through his belly. The hand Younghyun's not using to write sweeps gently up and down the length of his spine. Sometimes it pauses, rubbing at the base of Wonpil's spine like he thinks it might help him relax, the way he does sometimes when they go for it without much prep, because they run out of patience, because Wonpil wants to feel like he's being opened up on Younghyun's cock.

Now, though, he's been ready for so long, wanting something more than the plug inside him for so long, that the fulfilment has him sinking into a daze, like he's sinking slowly into a hot bath, except it isn't water submerging him but warm honey, spreading sweet lassitude into his fingertips, his curling toes.

Even the illicit thrill of doing this at work seems muffled now, when he's being good for Younghyun, helping him while he sings over repeating sections of his song, mutters to himself, taps out the beat on Wonpil's skin.

There's something comfortingly familiar about this feeling, the way Wonpil feels suspended and floaty, like he's lying on his back in a lagoon, swaying with the incoming and outgoing tides, bobbing up and down with the warm waves. He's sinking ever deeper, feels both encompassed and encompassing, like he might melt into taffy —

"Ah, hell." The solid warmth under Wonpil shifts; ah, it's Younghyunie-hyung; Wonpil goes pliantly when he rearranges Wonpil's legs, wraps them around his hips. The change in angle makes the cock in Wonpil nudge up against something in him that makes him babble something, he doesn't know what. The constant starbusts that it sets off in his veins, the fuel it adds to the simmering embers low in his belly. "Baby, are you already — fuck, okay, god, you're burning."

Is he?

"Yeah, sweetheart, you're so fucking hot, you feel so _good_ I can't —" Younghyun swallows and groans; his mouth presses briefly to Wonpil's temple. "I wanna just fuck you all night long, baby. That's all I'm writing right now."

Somehow, this is very funny to Wonpil. The giggles burble up, even though he tries to stop them, because they're shaking him, and Younghyun told him to just sit. Sit still.

There's a dull thunk — Younghyun's tipped his head back against the headrest. "You — what's so funny, Pilie?" _Both_ his hands are on Wonpil now, fingers resting on the jut of his hips. Ten long points of heat. They're both feeling hot, he guesses.

He hums, trying to draw the thoughts togethere. "You are," he murmurs; he doesn't have much energy to be louder than that. Maybe hyung can fuck him louder, later. When he's finished with his song.

Euphoric contentment blooms under his ribs when Younghyun laughs too, a short, soft, wondering chortle. "I guess I am, huh? God, talk about motivation. You're doing so well for me, baby." He presses a hard, breath-stealing kiss to Wonpil's mouth, and is back to his work — pencil moving feverishly across his page — before Wonpil can really reciprocate.

Slowly, cautiously, Wonpil leans his head back against Younghyun's collar, trying hard not to hitch his hips, not to try and get more pressure against the sensitive spot that Younghyun's cock is now lodged against, not to squeeze down and pulse the way he really, really wants to.

Time stretches weirdly, sweet and sticky like hot dalgona, when Wonpil lets his mind unspool out, so that all that Wonpil becomes is just a bundle of skin and nerves and hot, trembling heat, nothing more than the sensation of fullness, the sweep of Younghyun's thumb up and down the nub of his tailbone, the thumping of his heart in his chest.

The next time he blinks his eyes open, he notices beads of moisture on Younghyun's skin. There's a cluster close enough to Wonpil's face; they taste salty when Wonpil laps curiously at them. Under him, Younghyun's chest heaves with a shaky sigh.

"Pil-ah, don't — don't do that."

"Mmm?" he feels slow, heavy, like his voice is coming from a long way away. He noses drunkenly at the collar of Younghyun's t-shirt, trying to get to the skin underneath.

He feels the vibration of Younghyun muttering something to himself, then there're fingers in his hair, gently pulling him away and tipping his face up to the light. Younghyun's face comes into focus after some blinking. He's flushed, his eyes are dark and sharp, and there's a tense divot between his brows. That isn't right.

"Wonpilie, how are you feeling?"

"Mmhmmm." Wonpil smiles sweetly up at him. "Nice."

"Feels nice?"

Wonpil nods, and lurches a bit, dizzy with the motion. It's okay, because his hyung catches him.

"Okay," Younghyun's voice's gone back to that velvety, dark chocolate sound; it feels like one long caress down Wonpil's back. "That's good. You're — you're sitting so pretty, baby. I'm almost done."

And then he tucks Wonpil back against himself, one hand curving large and warm against the nape of Wonpil's neck, cradling his head.

Wonpil drifts some more. The guitar riff's looped so many times now he can't tell if he's imagining the way it teases at his ears or if Younghyun is still playing it. Either way, he hums happily along.

He gets another kiss at some point, Younghyun-hyung's _cute_ percolating through the clouds, settling into his marrow. He can hear the smile in Younghyun's voice; if his limbs weren't jelly, he'd wriggle happily. As it is, he settles for making a noise. Younghyun talks to him more after that; Wonpil tries his best not sink all the way back down again, so he can at least react, even if he doesn't understand what his hyung's saying all the time.

So he listens sleepily, turning his head enough so that his cheek is pressed to Younghyun's shoulder, unthinkingly twisting his hips so he can settle a little more comfortably. Younghyun's voice cracks in the middle of Wonpil's shifting, but when Wonpil hums in question, he's shushed and gets rubs in the small of his back like _Wonpil_ is the one who needs soothing.

The words sound familiar, the shapes and the rise and fall of them; so does the deep, private timbre of Younghyun's voice. The one that mostly emerges in times like this, when it's just the two of them. And the gentle buzzing of pleasure on and under his skin is so complete that it feels like it's fused with his bones, soaked into muscle and ligament, like Wonpil's entire existence is just one long, satisfied moan bending towards infinity.

Abruptly, the pleasure spikes electric and sharp up his spine when Wonpil's jolted about. Youngyun's hands have returned to his ass, his strong fingers spread over each cheek and kneading urgently, pulling at Wonpil's core. He's actually rolling his hips up deeper into Wonpil now.

Wonpil moans, but it comes out breathy and not nearly a match for — for —

"I'm done, sweetheart," his hyung tells him, peppers his face with kisses. "Come back to me." His voice is so low in his chest, it rumbles through the both of them, hooks into Wonpil's gut. The sudden sharp lick of desire makes him gasp. He tries to remember — what it is his body does, like this, but he can't, and whimpers.

'Oh, baby, no, don't sound like that" — Younghyun murmurs against his neck, nuzzling soft hot kisses along the tendon — "you're doing beautifully."

He skates a hand up Wonpil's side, leaving a tingling trail behind, Wonpil's so sensitised, and —

The forgotten choker bites sharply into his neck. Wonpil whines high in his throat, back arching and hips shifting as Younghyun hooks a finger into the ribbon and tugs.

" _Fu-uck_." Younghyun's voice is sand-rough and so, so deep. "Baby, can I — you — "

A small, helpless "Hyung" is all Wonpil can summon up; his body's remembered how to not just be a loosely bound constellation of sparking end-nerves, how to pulse as involuntarily as Wonpil's heartbeat around the heft and heat of Younghyun in him.

"Ah, god, there you are," Younghyun gasps. His hips jerk; his hand falls away from Wonpil's neck back to clutch at his hip; his cock twitches hard and Wonpil moans loudly. "O— _kay_. I have you, sweetheart, I have you."

He's being hefted up now, and they're — oh — he wraps his arms and legs around Younghyun, clinging tight, because he's in the air, and they're moving, and now his back's pressing up and into cool, stretchy fabric.

"Wh-what?" Wonpil manages to gasp out, head canting to the right as Younghyun buries his face in Wonpil's neck to suck a fervent kiss into the skin around his choker, his tongue playing with it, his saliva soaking the ribbon. There's a sofa right next to them, Wonpil doesn't understand —

"Leverage," Younghyun murmurs, hitching him up a little more. "I wanted more — " his voice hitches as he pins Wonpil more firmly against the against the — the _soundproofing panel_ , drawing his cock back out and Wonpil whines, clenching in protest.

"Pilie — " he laughs, dipping in to kiss the protest out of Wonpil's mouth " — I'll give it to you baby, I got you."

And he does, sets up a thumping rhythm that's fast and deep. The percussive force of his strokes in and the way his cock drags against Wonpil's prostate over and over punch the air out of Wonpil's lungs in breathy, barely aspirated _ah, ah, ah_ s.

Wonpil's just barely hanging on, the overwhelm blinding him until the point of crisis, the orgasm that's been coiling slowly for _hours_ his abdomen loosening like a tsunami, coursing through his entire body and scouring him empty. He's flying.

Then Younghyun pulls out, just as Wonpil's arriving back into his body enough to shriek at the sudden emptiness. He manhandles him over to the sofa, bends him over the wide arm, shoves back in and comes hot and wet in Wonpil a few rough, deep thrusts later.

His weight settles on Wonpil's back, and he's kissing messily at the nape of Wonpil's neck, sucking wet messy kisses that would liquefy Wonpil's spine if he weren't already loose and weak all over. His chest is heaving against Wonpil's. Wonpil himself is still gasping and has only just barely registered with a flip of his heart that Younghyun's slid their fingers together with the hand not pressed into Wonpil's belly.

"Pilie," Younghyun murmurs, sucking at the hollow behind his ear, starting to shift his weight off Wonpil and withdrawing. It's only feeling the drag of his softening cock that it occurs to him, trembling still, that he still feels unfinished, like the sticky hot come on his belly never happened.

Or — or it isn't enough.

Younghyun moans, gut-deep, when Wonpil clutches weakly, protestingly around him and squirms. "Baby, I can't ..."

Wonpil twists around to pout. "Hyung, I _want_ ..."

"God," Younghyun sighs. He's kissing Wonpil hungrily next, fucking his tongue in and out of Wonpil's mouth like he, too, wants to go again. "You're so hot," he says, even though he's very much not screwing Wonpil again. Wonpil mewls and feels his insides ripple when Younghyun pulls out fully and that particular viscous, slick mix of come and lube trickles out of him and down the inside of his thigh.

"Wait —" Incredulous, Younghyun presses two fingers against Wonpil's clutching hole, eliciting a weak cry and a shudder that works its way out from the inside "— are you still coming?"

He is _fucked out_ , sore and sensitive, but there's just — more, he wants more. He nods, eyes pricking with tears, and hangs his head between his shoulders when Younghyun makes a noise and presses two thick, clever fingers into him, hooking down and in towards Wonpil's pelvis.

Like earlier that evening, Wonpil loses track of time again.

But it feels different this time; everything is too immediate and too visceral, on the cusp of too-much and too-intense. He's tethered to the raw physicality of his body, of their bodies, together, when Younghyun's murmuring filth that Wonpil's too overwhelmed to parse properly into his ear; when Younghyun's massaging the pads of his calloused fingers directly into that bump in him, every insistent curl of his fingers strumming Wonpil's nerves like the strings on his bass; when the pleasure burning through his veins and coiling tight in a sunspot behind his navel makes him feel incandescent.

He's all-too-aware of the way his chest his heaving, the broken keening he can't help, the way Younghyun's voice has hit the bottom of his range and rumbles down his spine straight to where his ass is spasming around Younghyun's fingers, milking the wracking trembles out of him.

Younghyun's mouthing something into the side of his neck, and then nudging at the side of his face, turning it up so he can — oh, he's kissing the tears streaking Wonpil's cheeks away. Wonpil's heart trembles within him too.

The fingers in him stop pressing abruptly. Wonpil, surprised, hiccups.

A soft laugh buzzes warm against his cheekbone, and then Younghyun's kissing him on the temple. "How are you so cute even like this?"

Wonpil blinks blurrily at him in confusion. "Hyung?"

"You really are an inspiration," Younghyun tells him next, like that explains anything, withdrawing his fingers and pressing closer — oh, that's Younghyun's cock, filling out against him. A hungry, greedy moan rises unbidden in Wonpil's throat. "In every single way."

He's peeled off the sofa arm, turned gently around and they lose some more time, lose some of that frenetic urgency, caught up as they are in each other's mouths. Wonpil reacquaints himself with the firm contours of Younghyun's arms under all that plush give; he drags his fingers down and back up them: deltoid, bicep, forearm, back up to his shoulders and over to hook Younghyun closer with the crook of his elbows, gather him into the cradle of his hips.

"Okay," Younghyun groans, "Wonpil-ah, let's —" he manhandles them over and onto the sofa proper, the muscles in his shoulder and back shifting and tensing under Wonpil's grip.

Finally, _finally_ , they tip down onto the sofa. The faux-leather sticks to his sweat-soaked shirt, to his lower back, to the soles of his feet, braced against the firm cushion so he can tilt his hips back and arch up into the slide of Younghyun back into him.

Younghyun considerately presses a palm into the small of his back and starts out slow: measured, drugging drags of his cock in and out of Wonpil that have them breathing in sync, have Wonpil's eyelashes dipping low as the pleasure behind his belly-button starts lazily condensing into that sunburst again — at least until Younghyun curses, hitches one of Wonpil's legs up to prop along the back of the sofa, and then bends closer to Wonpil, his freed hand finding Wonpil's own.  
Spread open like this, it’s easy, almost frictionless for Younghyun to slide in even deeper, with the way Wonpil’s been fucked loose and lax. Wonpil sighs, luxuriates in the hot rub of Younghyun's cock in him, in their fingers interlaced next to his head, in Younghyun's panted breaths hot against his skin. The tension in Wonpil's belly winches tighter again, quicker this time with Younghyun moving over and in him. His thighs, calves are trembling, his toes curling useless against the sofa.  
There isn't much Wonpil can do but take it, like this, just the way they both like it.

Younghyun's going faster and harder, his breathing getting increasingly ragged. The sofa creaks under them, counterpoint to the wet squelching sounds of their fucking. His gaze is sharp and dark on Wonpil's face. It makes Wonpil go hotter all over, makes him moan louder, higher, clench in erratic pulses.  
"God, fuck, you feel so —" Younghyun's breath hitches.

"Good," Wonpil gasps, turning his head to kiss the straining tendons in Younghyun's wrist right next to his face. "You — hyung — _ah-ahhhhhhh_ —" This orgasm overtakes Wonpil easy as anything, intense and deep, rolling out from low in his centre and obliterating any sense he has of where he begins and Younghyun ends.

He hears a low and rumbling moan, and then Younghyun's cock is jerking in him, filling him up so hot and wet. The filthy sensation has him shiver a little more, feel like even his fingertips are atomising.

The first thing to return is his hearing — Younghyun's rough breathing. And then touch — Younghyun's lips on his cheek, an arm under him, their fronts pressed together. And then the ache, pleasant and deep, radiating out from his tailbone. And a less pleasant ache in his right thigh, where it's still hitched up.

Wonpil makes a grumbly noise and gingerly shifts his leg down to rest alongside Younghyun's own, now stretched out. He gasps at the pull in his hamstring as much as the way it makes Younghyun's cock, still lodged in him, shift.

There's a huff of breath against his skin. "Careful, Pilie."

"Bit late," he retorts tartly, and then opens his eyes and promptly regrets it. He can't even pretend to be pouty with Younghyun looking at him like that, his eyes all curved and warm with that wonder Wonpil can't begin to understand.

Younghyun levers himself up onto his elbows, all the better to smile down at Wonpil, probably. He leans down for a sweet, suckling kiss, murmurs as he's leaning back up and away, "Thank you for that, baby."

Wonpil can't believe he's feeling shy _now_ , after everything he's done and had done to him today. Nevertheless, he can feel himself smiling helplessly back up, shy and embarrassed by the affection writ plain on Younghyun's face.

"I'm going to pull out now," Younghyun tells him, and reaches down to pet Wonpil through it. Wonpil squirms, feeling uncomfortably — hollow. Empty, except for the hot come he can already feel sliding out around Younghyun's soft cock. Younghyun smirks knowingly at him, and then taps against the hot, swollen, sex-slick pucker of skin as he finishes withdrawing. "Baby, clench for me."

A tremble wracks Wonpil, stealing his ability to make words. "Mmmmr?"

"Clench." Younghyun keeps two fingers steady against his weakly grasping hole, until Wonpil's muscles cooperate and he clenches with a whimper. "Beautiful, Wonpilie."

Then Younghyun's scrambling off the couch, almost going down on wobbly legs, and snatching something off the desk across the studio.

"Oh," Wonpil gasps, when Younghyun climbs back onto the sofa and starts pushing the plug back into him. " _Oh_."

If Wonpil had the breath to, he'd purr with satisfaction.

"Yeah," Younghyun agrees, still smiling that terrible smile.

Wonpil closes his eyes and breathes through it — all of it. "Hyung. I can't move."

"That's okay." Younghyun manouevres them so that Wonpil's lying on top of him, face buried in his shoulder, smelling like sweat and sex and day-old cologne. "We can nap for a bit first."

The next time Wonpil comes to, Younghyun's managed to extricate himself from under Wonpil's dead weight, clean them both up, and somehow slide Wonpil's shorts back onto him. Bassists were magical.

"I ordered a taxi, Pilie. It's coming in five minutes," Younghyun whispers, crouching down next to him. It was his fingers stroking gently over Wonpil's face that had woken him up, apparently. "Can you walk?"

Wonpil groans as he sits up, and then gasps when the plug sinks a little deeper into him when he puts his weight on it. "I — of course I can, hyung."

But he can't, after all, and Younghyun piggybacks him down to where the car is waiting. It must be after midnight by now. Nobody's around to be suspicious, and if they were — well, someone Wonpil's close to probably would have dirt on them.

In the car on the way home, Younghyun pulls Wonpil closer to him. His backpack's occupying the other seat, and Wonpil's sat in the middle, drowsing on Younghyun's shoulder.

"You want to hear a line?"

"Mmmm" — Wonpil nods — "sure."

Younghyun softly sings a few lines to a by-now familiar tune. "There’s nothing wrong with the daylight," he promises, murmuring low and melodic, "I can always close the curtains, so don’t worry if we wait 12 hours, until the sun sets again."

"I think everyone else might object." Their eyes meet when Wonpil peers up at him. Wonpil grins in response to the amused quirk of Younghyun's lips. "They already do."

Wonpil buries a moan in Younghyun's arm when the taxi bumps over a drain cover. He's still recovering when he feels Younghyun shrug. "They'll be out all of tomorrow. We can stay in."

They won't, but Wonpil lets himself giggle in acquiescence anyway. Pretending like this is fun. "Okay, hyung —" he squeaks when Younghyun sneaks a hand between him and the seat to press at the top of his ass. " — let's."

*******

**Author's Note:**

> yesssssss I modified one of the lines a bit because ... songs go through redrafting? processual verisimilitude? or something. 
> 
> anyway. thanks for reading! please comment, [retweet](https://twitter.com/forochel/status/1257860178843705344), kudos <3
> 
> see you lot (hopefully) soon with something PG-13 rated. that was supposed to be the birthday fic, then this smut plunny knocked me over the head and dragged me by the hair into its smutty cave. sorry, my cinammon roll son.


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